The Sun Sets At Night
by Miss Awkward
Summary: They usually conducted the event in individual secrecy, in the safe confines of their respective rooms. But just for that night, the two brothers banded together to share the pain.  Don/Charlie


**Warnings:** Pre-slash, incest, and a whole 'lotta angst

**Author's Commentary:** Originally, I wanted to write this on Sept. 11, the day my grandmother passed away. I was going to begin working on it after my family had come back from the mortuary, but I was so melancholic that day that I had considered dropping the idea altogether. I got a bit of inspiration after watching the tragic anime film, "Grave of the Fireflies". It was so beautiful, morbid and stylistically done that it kind of propelled me into writing this. The title is symbolic of the time my granny (what my older brothers & I used to call her) passed, which was around 7:35 pm or so. That, and typical Belizean obituaries usually use the words "sunrise" and "sunset" rather than "born" and "died". *****Flames will be doused with anti-homophobic H2O. But all other feedback (relevant or not) is welcomed.

**Disclaimer:** All fictional characters contained within this story are property of they respective owners. I neither make profit from this, nor am I affiliated with the creators and producers of the series. If I owned the show, either David or Charles would be gay, Larry would be bi-curious and Megan would _not_ be a walking fashion show :,D

*****Please don't try to _hide_ a flame _within_ a review. If you don't like the pairing, then avoid the story. Simple, ja?

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_Healthy children will not fear life, if their elders have integrity enough not to fear death._

**Erik H. Erikson**

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They must have been standing there for nearly two hours. Don flicked over his free hand to peer at his dress watch: The moment the second hand reached the 12, it would be nine o'clock. And yet, he had no intention at all to leave. His baby brother needed him, after-all, and, despite the general perception of his already flawed character, he really did need Charlie's weight to maintain his emotional stability. And it was this same unspoken, silent ideology that brought the two Eppes together. If that great lady was still alive, Don pondered fondly, she would be jumping for joy at how close the two brothers managed to stay. But disease was never infamous for having patience.

Don looked back at the photo. Their mother was a remarkably attractive woman, in a great many aspects. And the grandeur of Charlie's brilliance only seemed to be a reflection of her own natural intellect.

Don turned to scrutinize his brother's face once more. A new wave of tears was beginning run down his cheeks. When they first began, Charlie allowed himself to weep freely, allowed Don the benefit of seeing him in such an emotionally vulnerable position so as to goad him into the role that they both implicitly knew he played so well. Shield. Agent. Protector. Brother. At that time, the mathematician even allowed Don to hold him, their arms almost feverishly clasped around each other, as if their souls were drinking up the vibrations that they were subconsciously transferring to the other, in that desperate embrace. Now, at 9:05 pm, Charlie's cries were but a mere silhouette of the honest, naked tears that fell from his tired eyes not too many hours ago-and each muffled, embarrassed sob made Don's heart sink lower and lower into his stomach.

They were dressed particularly formal. He promised Alan to shave, while Charlie promised to trim his hair a few inches (but knowing their mother, she probably would have disapproved). The Eppes brothers decked themselves out in their finest black suits. Don even rushed to the store to buy a black Casio just to match. Charlie, however, chose to be less ornate. Since 7:45 pm, they've been standing in front of the picture shelf with their mother's photograph on it. Don began with the proverbial kind words, then his brother followed suit. But Charlie couldn't remain completely objective in his short eulogy. He began digressing on how it was, in part, his fault for their mother's death. There was so much complexity and twisted logic in his ranting that Don allowed his baby brother to continue. But halfway through, Charlie broke down and Don assumed his role. He was fairly adept at masking his emotions, but the sight was too much for the agent.

The two were standing side-by-side now: Donald, smiling grimly at his mother's gentle simper, and Charles, glaring dejectedly at his own feet. Their hands were touching, as if their fingers intertwined by impulse. Don wanted to let go, but Charlie was squeezing his hand particularly tight. _I need you close, Brother,_ the gesture seemed to say.

"C'mon, Buddy," Don cooed in a whisper, "Dad'll be home soon. We should prepare dinner."

He made an attempt to guide his brother toward the dining room, but paused instantaneously when Charlie allowed his tears fall once more. His crying grew louder and his cheeks were covered in rivers. He did not try to hide, but it was that much more painful to Don as he watched the other weep. He slowly placed his free hand to Charlie's left cheek, the tears cascading down his fingers.

"Hey, let's go. Dad-"

The professor shook his head. "I'm sorry...Mom."

Don grimaced. "Look, it's not your fault! Besides, she would've passed anyway due to her illness."

Charlie could not accept that, never would, but he smiled underneath his tears anyway. Don pressed his lips to his baby brother's forehead. He stayed in that position awhile, then moved to his damp cheeks, a kiss for each side. And in return, Charlie caught Don's top lip between his own, running a nervous tongue along the surface.

"Dinner now, Buddy?" Don asked between kisses. His brother simply nodded, then followed closely behind the other into their kitchen where they attempted to resume their kindred roles.

Because despite the crushing needles in their chests, there was no other option but to trudge on.


End file.
